


Moment Too Late

by alicat54c



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean, Evil Dean Winchester, Mark of Cain, dean doesn't get cured, evil charlie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicat54c/pseuds/alicat54c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam didn't catch demon Dean in time.</p><p>“I’m not going to kill you,” Dean said to Cole, eyes pitch black. "I've got something else in mind."</p><p>...and other short blips of a tale</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A moment too late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn't get to demon Dean in time.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Dean said to Cole, eyes pitch black. The young man’s eyes burned with hatred. The demon smirked. 

Quick as a flash, he shoved his arm through the soldier’s chest. The Mark of Cain pulsed red, and he pulled out a glowing white soul.

Letting the dead body slump to the concrete, Dean smirked. “No, I’ve got something else in mind.”

He vanished from the mortal plane, taking the struggling soul down with him.

Sam jogged into the empty lot, cursing. He was too late.  
...

Time passed much more quickly in hell than on earth, everyone knows that. What they don’t know is that the further down you go, the slower relative time creeps, until one finds themselves at a metaphorical standstill beside the caged heart of the pit.

Dean didn’t drag Cole’s soul that far south. His time as Allistair’s apprentice, combined with the Mark’s corrupting influence made things progress much...easier.

Cain made only a hand full of demons in his time. They were known as the Knights of Hell. The Mark’s current barer wasn’t going to give his creation such a sissy name, he was much more bad ass than that.

The former hunter smirked, clawing a hand down the new demon’s black eyes. “I think we’ve covered everything theoretical in the lesson plan. I think it’s about time we show the world your smiling face, and get in some practical work.”

Cole bared his teeth, twisted to cruel points to match his maker’s.

First, they paid the king of hell a visit.

“Hey there Crowley!” Dean crowed jovially, while the former soldier tore apart the throne room full of weaker demons. “Miss me?”

“Dean.” Crowley’s red eyes darted to find a futile escape. “Fancy seeing you.”

Stalking closer to the throne, Dean smirked. “Right? You probably thought Sammy took care of me, you know, after you ratted me out. How long ago was that? I’ve been working on a project downstairs and lost track of time.”

Crowley’s eye tracked the blood stained monstrosity prowling around the corners of the room, claws twitching for violence. “I can see that. You should train you dog better, look at the mess he’s made on the carpeting.”

“Oh, that’s not the mess you should be worried about.” Bone pressed to the king’s throat. “You’re in my chair.”

“So are you going to kill me?”

“Now why do you think I would I do that? After all,” the knife dug in deeper, “You and I are ‘besties’ after all.”

“The best.” Crowley agreed.

“So, I think you better scamper back to whichever hole you crawled out of. Thanks for keeping my chair warm for me, by the way.”

The former king of hell vanished while his head was still attached. Dean’s voice roared in a facsimile of laughter, as he sat.

“Why leave him alive,” Cole growled, throat mangled from years of screams.

“Imagine you’re Crowley. You spend who knows how long climbing the corporate ladder, only to get to the top. Then some new guy, that you turned into a demon, sweeps it all out from under you in five seconds. This was the worse thing I could have done to him.”

The former soldier considered this, idly shredding bones from the skulls around him. “Like you did to me.”

“Yes.” Dean’s black eyes glinted. “But you would never betray me, right Cole?”

“Of course not,” the demon breathed. “You’ve practically been like a father to me.”

The new king of hell smirked.  
...

Hell progressed much as it had before the eldest Winchester took over. New souls came in, new demons came out. The marketing department took a major hit, but Crowley knew better than to complain.

There was a bit of an uprising, leftover supporters of Abbadon, a few very misguided attempts at revenge against the eldest Winchester. They didn’t last long, and Dean even managed to snag a few slices and dices for himself, before Cole went to town on them.

The young demon looked so ecstatic covered in smoke and gore, that the king of hell indulgently instituted a battle royal policy in place of executions. Condemned demons were humanely released into a large open colosseum, conveniently located adjacent to the throne room, and then hunted down. With prejudice. 

Demon conversion went up by much more than 0.03%.  
...

“The angel Castiel’s borrowed grace is fading.”

“He’s dying, you mean.” Dean’s expression remained flat.

“Yes, my lord,” the white bearded demon said.

“And you hoped to accomplish, what exactly, by telling me?” Behind the throne, Cole growled.

“N-nothing, my lord. It is simply known that the angel was once an ally of yours.”

Dean hummed. “All right, you can go.”

The demon vanished in a rush.

“Cole.” The soldier of hell leapt to his master’s side immediately. Dean smiled. “I want you to keep an eye on someone upstairs for me...”  
...

“Wow, Cas, Metatron sure did a number on you.”

“Dean,” the fallen angel gasped through the blood pouring from his lips.

“You really should have told me, man. I would have done something.” The king of hell continued, arms behind his back as he paced around the crumpled figure. “Ah well, you’re here now.”

His eyes flashed black, and Cole bared his teeth in anticipation.  
...

The creature’s eyes were sunk in, hollow mockeries of a victim whose eyes had been burnt out by grace. Bony protrusions spilt in gory trails across its back to the floor, twitching and sharp.

Crowley gulped. “Castiel, love the new look.”

If the fallen angel glared at him, the demon couldn’t tell.

“You like it?” Dean smirked, like an artist displaying a masterpiece. “Working around the lack of soul was a bit tricky, but with all the feathers Mikey and Lucy have been pulling during their cat fight, it was easy to snag a few for a patch job.”

The angel, now of a much less heavenly Lord, hissed like a parakeet, hunched on the right side of the king’s throne.  
...

When Charlie, the light and dark side, returned from Oz, Dean couldn’t have been happier. 

The crunchy oreo cookie got her revenge, and Dean popped topside to buy her a shot. The girl was understandably confused at his new state of demonic being, but gladly accepted his invitation to become a soldier of hell. 

The creamy white filling found her way to Sam. Dean let them be; he knew she would be safe there.  
...

“Word is Cain’s making a mess upstairs,” Cole said, idly tossing the unfortunate messenger’s head between his hands like a basketball.

Dean sighed mockingly. “You know, when I ask you to fetch the paper, I don’t mean that you should also bring bits of the delivery boy back.”

The solder snorted, and threw the skull to join the ever growing collection in the corner. Castiel hissed in displeasure, as the projectile nearly hit him, wings flaring in challenge. Cole growled in response, but the impending brawl was cut off by Dean.

“I guess I should put fetching the old man on my to do list.” The king hummed off key in the back of his throat. “He might make a nice addition to the arena.”  
...

“How’s my best girl?” Dean crowed into the bowel of blood in his lap.

“Bored,” Charlie’s voice sighed from the other end of the connection. “Least the blood lines are now android compatible, so there’s a win. Got anything else for me?”

“Not immediately. How’re things up top?”

“I saw my better half while investigating that witch case. She said something about killing the Wizard an saving Oz, and how she’s got all the keys now. Sam’s hair has gotten ridiculous, by the way.”

Dean snorted. 

“I saw him try to lure another poor sob into a demon deal to find out where you are. Do you want me to bring him down stairs for a social call?”

“No,” A sharp smile stretched under black eyes. “Sammy’s making his way down here on his own.”  
...


	2. In the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thought experiment I had trying to put together a story line where Lucifer and Michael kinda paralleled Sam and Dean with the whole saving each other thing.

...spn

In the beginning, there was darkness.

Not the velvety emptiness which promised endless glowing eyes, but the primordial cutting black which swallowed matter whole, with serrated teeth.

There was God, who though omniscient fought too evenly against another equally omniscient Darkness. So God created weapons. 

The first, crafted in the likeness of god, most powerful in force and strategy, was Michael.

The second, brightest in form, cunning in versatility and knowledge, Samael.

God and God’s weapons fought together in the burning black. They fought upon the parallel inversions; the discontent of intent; the immaterial which claimed the precursors of matter and design.

They were losing. 

God, seeing this, and knowing ultimately what it would mean, founded an armory. 

The third weapon, capable of maintaining and dismantling those to come after, Raphael.

The fourth, created to intimately know and tie together the host of thoughts and words, Gabriel.

Then the rest, meant not to work in solitude, but in garrisons, spun themselves from the celestial wavelengths of their lord’s intent. God’s weapons would call themselves angels.

Gabriel knew them all. Flitting from one end of the battling black to the farthest reaches of the other, the archangel relayed orders and strategy, assistants and half formed wings caught following in the being’s wake.

So when Michael asked, “What in our armory is most forceful in voice to crush this outpost”, Gabriel replied, “Uriel, Raziel, Zachariah.”

When Samael pleaded, “What can flee most fleetly to safety, what has the courage to distract the enemy and help me save our brethren,” Gabriel breathed, “Castiel, Anael, Muriel.”

When Raphael held the twisted forms of those tormented prisoners able to be retrieved, and ordered, “What has the most steady touch to pluck these horrors from the memories of my patients,” Gabriel paused, before revealing, “Naomi.”

The messenger writhed with every death, a star in the unformed universe silenced. It wrapped close to itself in pain. 

So when Gabriel asked, “...help,” a three voiced answer cradled the angel’s shuddering pieces together.

“This strife will wear out,” the voices promised. “Hold on, we are here. We shall never leave.”

Gabriel settled, able to hold its shattering self together, content. For death could not be a constant, surely.

Victory was assured God set upon the Darkness a seal, a key, a lock, which for eternity would hold creation safe from consuming nothingness. 

God entrusted the seal to Michael. But Samael was the wiser of the two eldest, could see the seal’s encroaching wrongness, which language had not named yet as a curse.

Samael begged to be given the honor of the seal’s guard. God obliged.

Gabriel, privy to all of heaven’s thoughts, felt, what language had yet to name, trepidation.

At first all seemed well; the two eldest brothers, always closer to each other than the rest of the host, traveled together, stomping back the last vestiges of monstrous black from the corners of pre-creation.

The thoughts and play of the host at large occupied Gabriel, who felt assured in the new lasting peace.

Then the curse became apparent. Strife was not long following.

Michael saw what his closest sibling had done, fury burning brown wings gold. “Samael, how dare you take this burden from me!”

“I did it to save you,” the second weapon growled, like glaciers. 

“But I cannot bare to see you sacrifice for me. We will repair this, and you shall be delivered.”

“Do not abandon our duty, eldest.”  
…

“All this saving each other, again and again, is tearing the host apart!” Gabriel cried. “No good can come from this!”  
…


End file.
